Omni chose their new album title with a pressing question in mind: How does an aspiring musician make a living? The Atlanta post-punk duo isn’t just referring to social media with Networker—they admittedly detest it—but also the perceived obligation to rub elbows with industry folk of importance, and the depressing spectacle of observing all your friends do the same around you. Thankfully, Omni found a little success, as this record marks their Sub Pop debut.
Their music has always thrummed with nervous energy, as if they were forever anticipating the worst. They’re considerably more secure since becoming labelmates with Sleater-Kinney, Beach House, and Father John Misty, but their worries haven't subsided: “Are you nervous for your career?/Are you insincere?” singer/bassist Phillip Frobos prods on opener “Sincerely Yours.” While there are mentions of modern technology, Networker is at its best when dissecting how these technologies intersect (or don’t) with the mundanities of daily life. On “Present Tense,” Frobos’ long-distance partner texts him a nude photo, but their clashing schedules keep him from responding right away.
Omni’s jittery post-punk, filtered through Parquet Courts and the Talking Heads, sounds slightly dialed back here, but the lyrics still burn with unease: “Continue to avoid me/But you’d like more photos to see/Are you dreaming of the stranger that turns you on?” Frobos asks “Skeleton Key,” recounting the agonizing self-consciousness of an online fling. “With your confidence, well, where do I fit in?” begs the narrator of “Sleep Mask.” “Is your silence concentration? Or should I take a hint?” There are more question marks than full stops on the lyric sheet, presenting frustrations with no hope for a resolution. “I’m an imposter/I blend like wallpaper,” Frobos laments over the quarter-note slog of “Genuine Person,” as matter-of-factly as if he were introducing himself.
At their best, Omni’s layered influences amount to a complex and absorbing churn, but here, the band sounds a bit depthless; frenzied guitar riffs can only evoke so much when there’s so little stylistic variation between them. The band is nimble and admirably tight, but most tracks chug along with similar tempos, volumes, and textures; the most memorable moments are the few welcome changes of pace, like the time signature shift of “Underage” or the synthy slow-jam of the title track. To stick with the digital-age-anxiety theme, Networker feels not unlike a dating app meetup that went fine, but not great—just entertaining enough to hold your interest for a round or two of drinks until you’ve decided you probably wouldn’t see them again.
Buy: Rough Trade
